"Hullo, Johnny. Miss me?"
John whipped around. Jim Moriarty. Here. In his office. Apparently unarmed.
And without snipers.
"Now, now," Jim chided as John snatched his revolver out of the top desk drawer. "You don't want to do that. I'm unarmed and you shouldn't even have that gun in your possession. You'll go to prison."
John cocked the revolver. "Worth it."
"You'll be violating your Hippocratic Oath – 'do no harm.' "
John stepped closer. "Actually, that's not in the Hippocratic Oath."
Jim stepped back. "You hate me. You want to see me suffer."
"Abdominal wounds are rarely fatal immediately. It takes hours, if not days, to bleed out." John aimed.
"The game will be over! You'll never see an opponent like me again!"
A shot rang out. Jim doubled over, gasping in pain as blood welled up.
"Why can't you criminals seem to remember that I'm not bloody Sherlock Holmes?"
Nothing against many of the Return of Moriarty fics out there, but if John has a gun in his hand, and the opportunity, why doesn't he freakin' SHOOT instead of monologuing like Syndrome from The Incredibles?